


Six Ways From Sunday

by Wolfcry22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon Compliant, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Coughing, Coughing Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, bloody nose, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfcry22/pseuds/Wolfcry22
Summary: After the events of the episode The Song Remains the Same (5x13) Castiel is far from okay. Dean does his best to step up and help his favorite angel.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Six Ways From Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve recently been rewatching Supernatural and noticed that Castiel was in pretty bad shape after journeying with Sam and Dean to the past. This is what could’ve happened when he comes back and the revelation he may have shared with Dean. This is what he could’ve meant when he told Dean and Sam that he thought he was in better shape than he thought he would be when he arrived in the past. Minor warning for bloody coughing/a bloody nose.

Castiel awoke with a gasp of agony as he sat up in the bed that he found himself him. His head throbbed just below his right temple, wrapping around the lower half of the back of his head like a vice. His vessel’s steady heartbeat forced a fresh wave of pain with every beat. His muscles were stiff and his bones aching. Even his wings, which were concealed from human view, felt heavy and uncomfortable behind him. Breathing was a challenge as his lungs fought to take in enough air to sustain his vessel. Then there was the strange tickle at the back of his throat, prompting the need to cough. 

“Cas? Cas!”

Castiel turned his head a millimeter to the side to see Dean rushing toward him. He kneeled in front of the bed beside Castiel. “Cas, you okay,” he fretted, green eyes flashing in concern.

Castiel gave a tiny nod. “I am fine.” As soon as he finished speaking, the need to cough overwhelmed him. He pitched forward, coughing lightly, turning progressively deeper. A steady stream of blood began to flow from his mouth, dripping from the edges of his lips onto his lap.

“Ah, shit!” Dean laid his hand on Castiel’s knee, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Hang tight. I’m going to grab something.” He straightened and rushed across the motel room. 

Castiel barely processed that he had left. His gaze flickered to his knee where Dean’s fingers had brushed him. He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his mind as he gave another weak cough. Thick crimson liquid, sticky and metallic tasting, dribbled from his lips. Castiel cupped a hand under his mouth to catch the blood in an attempt to keep Sam’s and Dean’s living space clean.

“Hey, easy there,” Dean chided as he sat down on the bed beside Castiel. He pushed Castiel’s hand away to place a thick towel in front of his mouth. “Let’s try to get you cleaned up.” 

While Dean attempted to wipe the blood from Castiel’s mouth, the angel tired, in vain, to force Dean back. “I am an angel of the Lord-“

“An angel of the Lord who nearly killed himself trying to get Sam and I to the past,” Dean interrupted with a roll of his eyes. 

Castiel feebly reached to grab Dean’s hand. Dean easily clasped Castiel’s wrist to force his hand down so that he could wipe the blood with the other hand until he was satisfied that he had cleaned him up to the best of his ability. 

“My wellbeing is not of import,” Castiel argued, a small rasp to his words making his voice sound even more gravely than usual. 

Dean’s eyes hardened. “You bet to hell it is! What were you thinking, Cas,” Dean grumbled, tossing the bloody towel into the corner. He would add that to the list of things to hide when they left or the maid would think they were some sort of serial killers. 

Castiel’s head lolled to the side weakly, nearly falling over as tiredness pulled at his mind. “I needed to save you and Sam as well as your parents. My wellbeing was of minor concern,” he pointed out, his electric blue eyes seeming to bore into Dean’s soul. 

Dean lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Cas, that’s not the way things work.”

“That’s the way they have worked in the past. What is the difference now?” Castiel’s head gave his telltale tilt ever so slightly, his lips parted in an attempt to aid in his breathing. 

Dryness settled in the back of Dean’s throat. He longed to say something that would reassure Castiel that wasn’t what Dean thought of him. He saw him as more than just some angel. They had been through things together and Castiel had turned his back on heaven for Dean, which hadn’t done anything for Castiel beside cutting him off from everything that he had ever known, and placed a giant target on his back. Dean feared Castiel was going to get himself killed trying to help them. That was another death he wouldn’t be able to live with.b

Before Dean could ponder it further, Castiel let out a low moan. His trembling hands lifted to his head, palms jammed against his eyes.

“Cas, Cas, what’s wrong,” Dean fretted as he reached out a hand to grasp the sleeve of Castiel’s trench coat.

Castiel laid back down on the bed, eyes squeezed shut thanks to the pain. “It’s always so loud.”

“The angel radio,” Dean guessed. 

Castiel gave a tiny nod. “Sometimes I can shut myself off from it. I haven’t been able to since I got back,” he confessed.

“That’s probably because you got your ass handed to you six ways from Sunday,” Dean pointed out. Castiel’s lip curled in distain as he rolled onto his side. His head pressed into the bed as forcefully as he could muster while his arms lifted over his chest. “I think I may have something that will help.” 

Castiel barely noticed the bed spring slightly upward after Dean’s weight lifted. He could only focus on the shrill voices that echoed around in his head. Each one bounced fiercer then the last as every angel tried to say something more urgently than the last one. He couldn’t decipher any of what they were saying, other than that they were scared of something. 

Dean arrived back with a bottle of water and a bottle of pills. He gave the pills a tiny shake. “Now, this is the good stuff. We only use these with severe wounds like stab wounds or bullet wounds, but I think what you’ve been through qualifies you for these.” 

Castiel squinted one eye at Dean. “How many should I take?”

“You?” Dean grinned, seriousness quickly overtaking him. “I’d say all of them.”

Castiel stretched out his hand weakly as a fresh wave of agony pulse through him. His hand was brought back to the side of his head, his palm striking fiercely against his temple as a groan left his lips. 

Dean hissed as he reached out to grab Castiel’s flailing hand. He forced it down so that Castiel couldn’t strike himself anymore. “That’s enough of that. Are you trying to give yourself a head injury or something?” 

“Trying to turn it off,” Castiel murmured.

‘The best way you can do this is these.” Dean lifted the bottle and jiggled it. “Not by making yourself concussed or whatever you’re trying to do.”

Castiel blinked his intelligent blue eyes slowly. “I doubt you know much about the communications between angels.”

“I know next to nothing about that other than it’s a real pain. I do know that these make just about anything better, so how about you humor me and try it,” suggested Dean as he set the pills down on the bed. “Let’s get you sitting up before you choke on your own blood or something.” He gripped Castiel’s shoulders and hauled him into a sitting position, Castiel becoming almost limp in his grasp.

Castiel leaned on Dean, the eldest Winchester struggling not to force him off of him. “Easy, Cas. Can’t just go limp on me.”

“My apologizes, Dean. The pain is causing undesirable effects,” Castiel confessed. He mentally wanted to pull from Dean’s shoulder, as he was sure this was uncomfortable for him, but his vessel would not comply. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “So I can see. C’mon. Let’s get you some of the good stuff.” He didn’t have the heart to shrug Castiel off as he grabbed the pill bottle and the bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap from the pills and tapped the bottle lightly until fifteen thick white pills fell onto his palm. He held them up toward Castiel. “Here. Take these and-“ 

Castiel didn’t wait for him to finish. He took the offered pills and threw them into his mouth. Dean quickly reached for the water, unscrewing the cap as swiftly as he could. 

Too late.

Castiel had already chewed the pills into a fine powder and swallowed them down. He grimaced at the taste on his tongue, his lip curling. “That is most unpleasant.”

“You’re supposed to swallow them with water, you idiot,” Dean joked as he handed the water over. 

Castiel grasped it in a shaking hand, spying it with distrust. “What am I supposed to do with this? My vessel does not require liquids of any kind.” 

Dean sighed heavily, laughing at the absurdity of the conversation he was having with his favorite angel. “Trust me, it won’t hurt. Maybe it’ll help clear that blood from your throat so you can heal quicker, or something like that.”

Castiel looked like he wanted to argue, but clearly thought better of it. He brought the bottle up to his lips. Dean watched with a hint of surprise as Castiel swallowed the entire contents in a few quick swallows. He handed the bottle back to Dean as his eyes began to drift shut tiredly. 

Dean frowned as he took it when he noticed something dripping from Castiel’s nose. Castiel seemed oblivious as his eyes started to close. “Damnit, is your nose bleeding,” Dean questioned. 

Castiel opened his eyes, pulling away from Dean’s in an attempt to keep his blood from dripping onto Dean’s clothes. He lifted a hand to his face, pressing two fingers against the underside his nose. He drew them away, glancing down to see bright crimson on his fingers. “So it would seem.” 

Dean grasped Castiel’s shoulders and helped force him against the headboard. “Just wait right there and don’t move,” Dean instructed, forcing himself off the bed, and springing toward the small bathroom. 

Castiel tried to do as Dean said while blood continued to stream down his face. His nose throbbed from the steady trickle that ran down to his upper lip, beginning to flow onto his shirt. Castiel wasn’t sure whether to lean forward or tip his head back. He was sure he had heard Dean or Sam say to do either of those things once or twice. He just couldn’t figure out which one was the right way, and which way was the wrong way. He settled on keeping his his straight until Dean came back. 

Dean shuffled back into the room with a damp cloth and another towel. “You seem like you just can’t stop bleeding from different holes, now can you,” he questioned in an attempt to conceal the nervousness from his voice. He sat on the bed beside him, rolling the cloth into a ball in his hand.

Castiel blinked his eyes slowly, exhaustion already settling back into his frayed nerve endings. “I cannot control this, Dean.” 

“Yeah, I figured as much.” He pressed the washcloth against Castiel’s nose, partially clamping around it firmly. “Alright, you’re going to lean forward so that this blood doesn’t drip back into your stomach. Hopefully this will stop the bleeding quickly. We don’t want you loosing anymore blood than you already have.”

“Are all human vessels this faulty,” Castiel asked, his voice obstructed thanks to his nose being clamped shut.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Just about. Although, your nerdy meat suit there is taking a bit of a beating. You still think you’re invincible?” 

Castiel’s gaze flickered over to Dean, eyes flashing in frustration. “My grace repairs my vessel just as quickly as it tears itself apart.” 

“Apparently that’s not true,” Dean argued, trading hands as his right one went numb. “Because you’re a lot worse for wear.”

“That was just from the time travel,” Castiel argued, swallowing a burning cough that threatened to bubble from his lips. “And being partially cut off from heaven.” 

Just hearing Castiel say it in an almost wretched tone was heartbreaking in and of itself. Castiel may have his doubts about following orders, but Dean could tell how much he loved his home. He had only because questioning everything when Dean had gotten in his head, spewing about free will and fighting for what one believes in. It had taken a while for Castiel to change teams after countless considerations. Dean wondered if he shouldn’t have tried to persuade Castiel that rebelling was such a good idea. 

“Cas, while you’re slightly indisposed at the moment, can I ask you something,” Dean asked. He pulled the cloth from Castiel’s nose to find it still dripping with blood. He forced it back with Castiel still leaning forward, his tie hanging limply from his neck. 

Castiel let out a heavy breath. “Whether I respond or not you will still ask me,” he pointed out dryly.

“You said that you were in better shape when you thought after touching down. Did you think you were going to die or something,” Dean questioned.

Castiel paused briefly before trying to shake his head, only to have Dean halt him. Moving too much wasn’t about to help things. “I did not think that I would die. My vessel may have fared worse, but I could’ve repaired it, eventually,” he mumbled tiredly. 

“Then what did you mean?”

Castiel closed his eyes tightly. “I feared I may have forgotten you or Sam, and my purpose.”

“I’m not following,” Dean murmured worryingly. 

Castiel reached up to clutch the washcloth away from Dean’s hands. Dean didn’t try to force him to give it up as he helped Castiel sit up as the angel swayed dizzyingly. “I knew the trip would be strenuous not only on the vessel, but on myself as well. I was afraid that my memory would become fragmented and I may not remember who you two were. That or I would believe my original mission of heaven.”

“You were willing to scramble your mind, for us,” Dean asked in bewilderment. 

Castiel pulled the cloth from his nose, pleased to find the steady stream seemed stemmed for the time being. “It was worth the risk,” he murmured. 

“No, I don’t think that it was! You should’ve told Sam or I, Cas. We could’ve-“ 

“Could’ve what,” interrupted Castiel, setting the washcloth beside him on the bed. “You and your brother could’ve done nothing but worry. I saw no point in that.”

Dean worked his fingers against the wilted comforter on the bed. “This isn’t something you just think on your own. You have to tell us these things. We’re a team and we look out for each other. If there’s a way that this ends bloody for you, you can’t keep it to yourself.” When he didn’t hear Castiel answer him, agitation rippled through him. His jaws clenched as his hands balled into fists. “Are you even listening to me?” 

Dean turned sharply to see Castiel’s head slumped sideways, his eyes beginning to close, brimming with exhaustion and pain. His mouth attempted to move as if words were on the tip of his tongue, but he was too tried to make sense of them. 

“I guess we’ll finish this conversation later,” Dean murmured as he leaned forward, grasping gingerly at Castiel’s tie. He loosened the knot around his neck before pulling it over Castiel’s head. He did the same to his trench coat and button down shirt, leaving him in a white tank top and his black pants. “That should be a little more comfortable.” 

Dean lifted the back of his head Castiel’s forehead while he was less resistant, checking to see if he had a fever. He was about to pull his hand away when Castiel’s hand shot up to grab him by his wrist. Dean grunting, attempting to pull his hand free, but Castiel’s grip was stronger than he expected. “Cas, let go,” Dean requested. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel began, his chest heaving with each word he tried to force from his mouth, dried blood showing at the corner of his mouth.

Dean’s gaze flashed in concern. “Sorry about what? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“For everything.” Castiel’s eyes started to close as he leaned back on the bed, his breathing starting to turn labored as he drifted off. 

Dean clenched his jaw in frustration. Castiel’s answer had been vague and unconvincing at best. Unfortunately, Dean wasn’t about to wake up Castiel to find out. He had already had a rough couple of days and deserved as much rest as Dean could give him. As much as Dean may come across that he was fed up with Castiel, he wanted to protect him as much as Castiel protected him. He owed him that much. In fact, Dean was sure that he owed Castiel everything. He had a special bond with him in someway, shape, or form. 

“Get some sleep, Cas,” Dean told him with a fond look in his direction. He reached over to rest his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, careful not to wake him. “You’ve more than earned it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a quick one-shot to fill in some of the timeline. I hope you all enjoyed and are staying safe!


End file.
